


The Sorcerer

by Skyebo6



Category: The Sorcerer - Sullivan/Gilbert, The Yeomen of the Guard - Sullivan/Gilbert, We Happy Few (Video Game)
Genre: Abigail is a lovely soul, Bitter-sweet, Blackmail, Conspiracy, England - Freeform, F/M, Father-type relationship, Gen, Gilbert and Sullivan references, Hurt/Comfort, John is a grumpy old man, Loosely based off of ‘The Sorcerer’ by Gilbert and Sullivan, Magic, Performing Arts, Plot, Pre-Cannon story, Sadness, The ‘Very Bad Thing’, finding happiness, magician, mentions of the Yeomen of the Guard
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-28
Updated: 2019-07-15
Packaged: 2020-02-08 20:54:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 14,764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18631048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skyebo6/pseuds/Skyebo6
Summary: A woman named Abigail sat with her husband one night, a quiet night, as they listened to another one of Jack Worthing’s famous broadcasts.The woman is displeased with the story, it’s twisted, it lies.She knows because she’s already lived it.————————In a time before the Bobbies, Doctors and everyone’s favourite television host became known throughout Wellington Wells, a magician named John W. Warlock has been the top of his act for a long time, and decides to train a young girl to be his Apprentice, but after he gets mixed up in a plot to drug the town by Harry Haworth, he finds himself growing weary of the trade.(Set two years after the ‘Very Bad Thing’ occurred, during the first production of the Joy drug, 16 years before the events of the game.)





	1. They Remember

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They remember him in the evenings.

**_October 7th, 1964  
Wellington Wells_ **

On a dark night in the empty streets of Wellington Wells, a familiar tune fills the silence, and a voice.

Well, it’s rather late, isn’t it?” The voice of everyone’s favourite Wellie, Jack Worthing, cuts through the air. “And it’s time for all good citizens should be getting ready to go to bed. Would you like to hear another bed time story?” He chuckles, “of course you would.” 

He opens his book at the front page before glancing back at the camera. “Well, why don’t you all cozy up around the telly, grab yourself a lovely cup of tea, and I’ll tell you something that happened.”

How she dispised his telling of this story, it aroused nothing but sorrow in this lady of 36.

In the cozy livingroom of an old, delapidated house, she sat with her husband staring at the television screen, he glared at the man in front of him with equal disdain. This house’s walls had changed many times over the years, yet with her they remained the same, a monument to a time long since past.

“Tonight’s story takes place in our own little village of Hamelyn, the story of a man, who we call, ‘The Sorcerer’... or was it Jack.. no, that’s me haha! John, maybe?” Another hearty laugh, “One tends to forget you know, oh well, but he was certainly Magical!”

She’d had enough, raising from her chair, she reached towards the unit, switching it off with a resounding click, her husband offered no protest. The light and the voice instantly left the room, and they proceeded to turn themselves in for the night.

This lady is Abigail Beaton, it was her who had been brought forward and inherited the title of ‘The Sorceress’, **and she remembers.**

Her husband is Bennie McLean, a Scottish man, who was once an aspiring actor but now resounds himself to perform alongside his lady. **And he remembers.**

**They remember _him._**

=========================

**_1946, the ‘Very Bad Day’_ **

She’d met him on the day that the world had feared.

The day the world no longer made sense.

An old man stood on the train terminal, staring towards her direction, briefcase in-hand, a trenchcoat and a top hat, smoking a pipe. His face glum, for this was no happy day.

She stood by her two youngest sisters who were engaged in singing a song with a group of children, patents, and relatives led by their school teacher, Miss Byng, who was currently putting on a weak smile. It seemed today was truly joyless. 

Nevertheless, Abigail tried to half-heartedly join in.

She seemed to have noticed the man before the teacher had, as the woman promptly waved him over.

“Oh there you are! Children, meet John, a truly remarkable man!” She chirped, all too happy to be free of her makeshift distraction.

He extended his hand to shake hers, the glum look replaced with that same hesitant smile, a bow in his step as though to greet her. 

“Now can we all sit in a semi-circle on the ground? Mr John is our very own, resident Sorcerer and magician!” She circled around the group of children to stand with the parents at the back, leaving him to the proverbial stage.

“Good morning children, so very nice to see you all.” He tipped his hat, the children offered a sing-song ‘good morning’ as rehearsed every day in their school.

“Now tell me...” he paused for a moment to glance around at their faces, “who here likes magic?”

He was met with cries of approval, a chorus of childish “Me!”s arose, one of the older children stuck his hand in the air.

“S-sir?” He stuttered, John turned his attention to the boy.

“Yes?” He asked patiently, the boy removed his hand.

“Do you... do... do you really know mag- magic-“ he was cut off by a smaller boy with thick-framed glasses and a sarcastic voice.

“Of course, he’s a magician!” He was met by several voices of agreement, “he has a top hat, see? And a big long coat!”

“Magicians don’t have long coats!” Another protested, it took john a minute to quiet down the group.

Once there was complete silence, he paced in front of the group, nose to the sky, glancing down at them amused. “To answer your question boy... im not sure myself,” he produced a fake bouquet of flowers from his hand, “why don’t you figure that out for me?”

He was met with another chorus of gasps and giggles, yet Abigail couldn’t help but sigh in her mind. It was such a simple trick, at least the children enjoyed it... that’s all that really mattered right now.

John produced a number of small sleight-of-hand tricks, just enough to pass the time. Abigail found herself lost in thought once more.

_The Sorcerer of Wellington Wells indeed... cant say anything has been too impressive_

At that moment, she realised one of her younger sisters was stood next to the magician, and his hand was extended out towards her.

“A round of applause for our two volunteers” he offered, a slight nod towards her, he could tell she hadn’t been paying attention. His audience obayed with a polite yet brief applause, Abigail stepped forward slowly to reach his arm, allowing herself to be led by him.

He stood her on his right-hand side, passing her a paper and pen. He then handed two chalkboards to her younger sister and a stick of chalk.

“Now my young dear, could you stick that piece of chalk between those two boards, make sure one if facing the opposite way as not to crush it.” He instructed the child, who placed the chalk on the front of one of the boards, placing the other board on top of it, ensuring that the wooden border prevented it from crushing the utensil.

He then turned his head to face Abigail who had her eyebrow cocked at him.

“And you dear, would you mind writing a word for me, any word on that piece of paper, I ask that you do not show me it but please do make it difficult.” He instructed, facing away from her.

“All done?” He questioned as he heard the dranite cease to glide along the paper, she quipped back a quiet “Yes” after cradling the pper closer to her chest, to ensure that he definitely could not see its contents.

His head snapped back towards his audience, his foot stepping slightly forward. He addressed the child. “Can you tell me, my young lady, have you felt or heard the chalk rolling at all inside that box?”

She tipped it from side to side, no clicks were heard from inside, she concluded with a solid “No sir!”

“Would you mind opening it up and taking the chalk out for me?”

She obliged, lifting the lid, she gasped, stepping back slightly with wide eyes and a rapidly spreading smile. She laughed.

“What? Whatever is the matter?” He chuckled at her, feigning an exaggerated annoyance as he began leaning towards her slightly.

“It’s gone!” She exclaimed gesturing at the empty board.

“Care to show us?” He asked, gesturing to the group, she held it up so all could see, the chalk was, in fact, gone.

“No it isnt” he quipped back amusedly, “it’s right here!” He reached behind her ear to produce another stick of chalk, placing it back on the whiteboard, causing the class to laugh. 

Abigail found herself smiling.

“My! You have a lot back there, don’t you?”

He performed the same trick a few times until there were 8 stucks of chalk sitting on the board, earning hilarity through the group of children. “Have you been stealing this from your classroom girl?”

She screeched a laugh, letting out a wailing “No sir!” as she bounced on her heels.

He faked a huff, “Oh alright you, let’s try that again and- Ah ah,” he wagged his finger at her, “No stealing!”

She placed the board over the other once again, concealing the chalk.

“Can you feel it rolling now?” She tilted it once more, this time resulting in a few clicks as it hit the wooden border. She nodded enthusiastically.

“Keep rolling it.” He commanded, and she obayed, tilting the box from side to side until the clicks grew quieter and eventually stopped. Her mouth formed the shape of an O, while a chorus of ‘Ooh’s escaped the crowd.

“Have you stolen my chalk again?” He asked, ahe shook her head furiously.

“Well then, let me see! Open it up!”

She removed the top board, revealing the chalk to be missing, but a word was etched onto it.

He took the board from the amazed girl’s arms, holding it in front of him he glanced around the amazed faces. “Popinjay?” He questioned.

He turned to Abigail annoyed, “My dear girl, you got it wrong!” She stood, taken aback. 

“Show them your word” he told her, she held the paper out which said “Popinjay” in messy writing. The children loved it, screeching about how amazing it had been.

“I am terribly sorry children, she seems to have gotten it wrong, it was rather supposed to go like this.” He removed a hankerchief from his pocket, lacing it through his thumb and forefinger, he flipped it quickly to revea a dove, flapping its wings frantically in front of the widened eyes.

He quickly opened his briefcase, pulling from it a make-shift birdcage in which he put the dove, allowing it to hang from his finger. He dismissed his two assistants with another round of applause and a bow before Miss Byng approached him happily.

“Did you enjoy that, children? Because i did too!” She laughed, the voice grew more distant as Abigail observed John, making his hasty escape, and once he was out of the sight of the children his face fell once more into that ghastly glum look.

He didn’t dare turn back to face them, before he disappeared from sight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope this was enjoyable! I’ve been planning this story for over two months now, feedback is appreciated!


	2. A Change In Routine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Abigail settles in to a new job, and unknowingly, a new life.

**_August 7th, 1947_ **

It had been a year, hadn’t it? Near enough, she supposed. 

The world had been so dark since, she’d definitely lost track of the days. It had to be around August, oh it was?

She found herself busier. Her family, comprised solely of her mother, her younger brothers of 14 and 16, and the youngest sister of 13 having now fallen on hard times. Abigail, being the oldest child, now a lady of 19 years, she was sent to work in any job she could find to move out as quickly as possible.

She’d sold matches in the winter, she’d shines shoes in the spring, but that seemed to make the men uncomfortable, not to mention, it was a competitive market amongst the Wellington youngsters.

She’d tried hobbies such as sewing, knitting, artistry, even attempted to launch a career in singing, only to discover that not only were all the Wellies not in the mood, but nobody had the time for it these days.

And so here she was, running from postit board to postit board, hanging up advertisements for odd-jobs and ends.

She lightly jogged down the streets of Maidenholm, rounding a corner sharply...

...only to run face-first into an elderly man in his 70, her papers flying everywhere.

She scrambled to her feet, cursing at herself as she gathered what she could salvage, one of the fliers had stuck to the man’s face.

“Oh sir i am- goodness, I am so sorry, I shouldn’t have-“ she began as she hurriedly helped the man to his feet, fussing over his coat and picking up his hat which had been flung off of him with the impact.

“It’s quite alright my dear, mistakes happen. Though I don’t suppose you’ll be doing that again, what a mess you’ve made!” He exclaimed, she snapped her head up upon recognising his voice.

It was John, he stood patting down his overcoat, straightening the creases that had formed.

“You... you’re the man! I saw you, last year at the-” She recollected, only to be hushed by the man.

“You know people aren’t rather fond of people mentioning that nasty piece of business.” He said in a hushed tone. “Why were you in so much of a rush, dare I ask?”

She fumbled with the hem of her buttondown dress, a little dirty, but not entirely noticeable. “I was just going to hang up these fliers but... seems like most of them have gone with the wind, as they say.” She chuckled embarrassingly.

He took a minute to produce his reading glasses from his pocket, which had luckily escaped the woman’s assault unscathed, before reading through the flier he had caught.

“Odd Jobs, bits and bobs?” He recited to her, she felt herself going quite red.

She supposed it was a rather childish way of phrasing it...

“Heh... you wouldn’t need anything done, by any chance, would you?” She said meekly, still frankly mortified by the whole situation.

“Well, I do need a new housemaid, it’s become rather difficult to do much for myself these days-“

She looked up ecstatic, smiling, “I can do that!” She interrupted him, quickly clearing her throat and repeating the same sentence in a far calmer tone. He seemed amused by that.

“Well aren’t we the eager one? I’ll tell you what, turn up on my doorstep on this Saturday’s morning and i’ll talk you through your duties, does this work for you?” She nodded. “I look forward to it” he smiled.

“Goodbye, Miss....”

“Abigail” she spoke up, “Abigail Beaton.”

“And I, John W. Warlock. How-de-do?” He smiled, taking her hand to shake it.

“Mustn’t dally, Good day, Miss Abigail!” And with that, he tipped his ever-present tophat and turned heel, walking stick in hand, clicking as it connected with the ground with each step he took.

“Good day, John! I will see you on Saturday!” She called to his back, earning her a small wave from the walking man.

And with that, the excited Abigail ran home to inform her family.

=========================

Finding John’s house in the parade wasn’t too difficult, just off the marketplace, the one with the bright red door with a stained-gladd oval.

She showed up early and eager to make a good first impression, it took a moment for the man to make it to his door to answer it, she noticed how different he looked without his tophat, yet she missed his silly greatcoat. The smell of tobacco met her nose as he held a pipe in his right hand, he reminded her of her old grandfather.

He smiled when he saw the young woman, suitcase in-hand, somewhat taken aback by her show of dedication, he’d obviously assumed her to be a rather careless worker from the other day’s display.

Then why had he offered her the job? Perhaps she was just making assumptions.

Her question was answered for her in the first words to escape his lips.

“A live-in maid it is then? I suppose I have the room to spare.” He chuckled at her, she looked down at the suitcase and cringed.

“I-Im sorr-“

“Not at all my dear, I’ve a spare bedroom to offer anyway, not like it’s of any use to me.” He turned to walk into the house, motioning her to follow. She stepped into the sizeable livingroom, taking in the decorations. She felt as though she’d stepped into the past, although judging by the man’s age he would have bought this house sometime in the early 1900s, perhaps the 1910s? He simply hadn’t bothered re-decorating it.

Not that she was complaining, it was a time-capsule to an era she had never witnessed herself, and a grand one at that. The Victorian’s sure loved their fancy decorations.

He took a seat in his favourite armchair, removing that morning’s newspaper from the base, and allowing it to fall at his side and onto the floor. He motioned her to sit on the small red sofa positioned to his right-hand side, which she did so gracefully.

“I’ll be honest with you, my dear.” He began, breathing out his last poff of smoke before putting out his pipe, “I haven’t much use for a maid, but last winter I struggled terribly, and have been as ill-fated ever since, I suppose my age is catching up to me.” He laughed.

“All i ask of you is to handle what I cannot, so to speak. A simple trip to the shop is enough to tire me out, these days.” He sighed.

“Then let us make a plan! Let’s say i run errands, i’ll take your shopping runs on a Tuesday and a Friday, i’ll help you out with any little odd-jobs you have need of and any tidying up you may need done?” She offered, he smiled at this suggestion.

“That is a plan indeed! I suppose we’ll figure it out as the days move on, now, let’s get you all settled into your new room.”

=========================

Over the days that followed, Abigail discovered many things about the unusual man.

Her first, and most immediate discovery, was that the old man was a quiet man. Many a night she would not breathe a word to him, nor him to her, as he would sit reading, often times neglecting her very presence, so she began making herself known. Sitting next to him on the sofa and opting to read her books of history. He eventually began to give her suggestions and vice-versa, he turned out to have quite the book collection.

He’d come to enjoy their time together in the evenings.

She remembered marvelling at his books of ancient Chinese dynasties, she enjoyed books of the mythical history of King Arthur and his knights of the round table, or legends like that of King Charles II and the six ravens of the Tower Of London. Most peculiar, she figured, was his book of nursery rhymes that seemed a tad bit older than the man himself.

She had asked him about it one day.

“Ah yes, that. That was left to me by my nursery maid, Madame Preston on the day my parents decided they no longer needed her services.” He replied, not once taking his gaze off of his book.

Abigail flipped the book to the page of contents, noting a hand-written message to John, likely from the nanny herself.

“Why did she leave it?” Abigail pressed on, prompting the old man to remove his reading glasses to better see her.

“Because I loved it,” was his reply, “we would sing those together like montra when I was a lad. It holds a rather large amount of significance to me.”

“Theres a photograph in here, two young boys in sailor outfits...” she trailed off, staring at the image in amusement and a hefty amount of fascination.

“Ah yes, that was myself and my brother, William, a year before Madame left our services.” He recollected as he took the photograph from her hands and hovered his reading glasses over it.

“You look like a baby!” She replied cheerfully, a smirk gracing her lips.

“...So what age did she leave you at?” She pressed on.

The man hesitated a moment, before replying, “She left when I was 13...” he replied flatly.

Abigail could not keep herself from giggling.

=========================

The next, most immediate thing she had discovered was that he had a schedule, of which he kept to.

Like clockwork, he would follow, and she eventually noticed the patterns after a few days.

Every mornings he would wake up and fix himself a breakfast of toast and scrambled eggs, she soon learned to wake up at a suitable time to have this ready for him, which he was very thankful for.

He would then do his rounds of the local market down the street, she enjoyed browsing the savoury goods on sale as well as knick knacks that had been put on show from around the world. 

In the afternoons he would fix a tea. Finger sandwiches and a hot beverage were his usual, although she also, soon discovered, thet the man did not actually like normal tea, and rather much preferred himself a peppermint. Soon she found a way to work into this schedule, making the tea as he prepared the sandwiches, being extra careful as to make extra for his new housemate.

For the rest of the day, John would sit and read, or make himself busy with little projects. And like a cat, Abigail would ask him many questions, of which the man would happily answer.

In the evening they would prepare a dinner, comprised of meats and vegetable, as rations would allow, and have a chat about their separate days had they not spent it together, and John would promptly retire to his bedroom each night at exactly 10 o’clock.

He seemed lighter from then on, clearly enjoying how she had changed his days, perhaps a change had been much needed in his life.

Perhaps he had lived too long without one.


	3. That Seems an Unreasonable Proposition

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The question, gentlemen, is why?  
> John finds himself in a tense situation.
> 
> Abigail meets a man in the marketplace.

Abigail had taken quite a few trips to the market over the last month or so.

But it was only one day in October that she had met him.

A new stall had opened, run by a man in his 50s on a suit and tails, and beside him stood a man who looked to be in his ears 20s, she would come to learn that the man was the man’s father, and that he was a wealthy and successful travelling businessman, who had taken it upon himself to teach the boy his trade.

While the man sat and spoke to his business partners, enjoying the unusually sunny day as they sat, and ate, and laughed, his son was left standing at the stall to attend to customers.

Abigail found herself drifting towards the stall, curiosity had already taken hold of her, a fresh face and some new trinkets proved to be too much of a temptation.

A jeweller’s stand, and an expensive-looking one at that.

Everything from diamonds to watches to bracelets and earrings.

But one thing I particular caught her eyes...

“What a simply marvellous necklace” she wondered aloud, she was glancing at a necklace of pearls and small rings of crystals, at the middle of which sat a heart pendant of several small rhinestones. A note placed in its box detailed that the piece had come from the House of Chaumet workshop in Place Vendôme, a pristigeous and old Jewellers from Paris dating back to 1780.

“Oh, you like it, do you?” Questioned the man, she nodded as she looked up to him. The man was blonde and thinly built, he wore a waistcoat and puffy-sleeved shirt, with the darkest chocolate-brown eyes she had ever seen.

“Very much so yes” she barely muttered, he smiled. “There’s a high price on this one, though nobody seems able to pay it” he gestured to the Wellies nearby where a group of women were whispering, and some gentlemen stood closeby checking their bank details.

She groaned, bracing for the answer to her question, “So... how much IS it anyway?”

“£1,400” he replied, laughing at the way her face contorted and she let out a sigh.

“You weren’t kidding” she replied, he laughed more.

“You’re not the first i’ve seen to react that way, nor the worst.”

He glanced at the necklace briefly, before lifting it from the stall and placing it in the underneath storage area. “Best to hide it than break any more hearts.” He gave her a quick wink.

“So when did you arrive here?” She asked him, earning his attention.

“Not but a week ago” he replied, “can’t say im all that happy, everyone here seems terribly glum, and my what a temper some of these men have!” He exclaimed to her, “And perhaps most unusually, I haven’t seen a child once since i stepped into this town. Many a young teenager yes, but no babies, toddlers or children.” He had leaned towards her, noticing the way her face fell at the very mention of those words. He instantly faltered.

“Oh im sorry, I didn’t mean to- I suppose theres a reason for that... just- forget i mentioned anything.” He stuttered in shame, she shook her head.

“Not at all, you couldn’t have known, it’s not something anyone wants to talk about in a hurry.” She moved a stray hair from her face.

“So, what is your name?” She asked, quickly changing the subject, the man took the opportunity to a lighter topic.

“Bennie McLean, at your service!” He smiled, offering her a hand to shake, she smiled too.

“Well it’s been lovely meeting you, Bennie.” She replied, turning to leave.

“Wait!” He exclaimed, catching her attention, “I haven’t learned your’s yet, miss.”

“My name is Abigail Beaton.”

=========================

As soon as Abigail stepped in from the front door, into the hallway, she could tell something was different.

She could sense the tension in the air almost immediately as she had opened the door, the voices of men immediately filled the air.

She awkwardly stood for a moment before moving forward quietly, she could see a very stressed out John speaking to a room of older gentlemen ranging from their 40s to mid-50s.

“-I pray you tell me exactly why you are here gentlemen, a sales-pitch won’t work on me, in afraid.” He spoke, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“My dear fellow, we request your skills in the art of magic for promotional purposes, and we will ensure that you are paid handsomely in your reward.” One of them spoke, she’d recognised this man, a scientist, his laboratory had been instrumental in the war service, however for which side she had never been entirely sure...

“I’ll have nothing to do with this thing- this... _drug._ ” he spat, “people must grow with pain, it is a part of life, but we must move forward. What you are proposing is evil.”

“Im afraid you’ve no choice in the matter.” Spoke the eldest-looking visitor, Abigail quickly realised that this was the chairman of the council.

“Effective immediately there is to be a change in town structure, we are to be closed off from the mainland and this town will work on forgetting, new laws will be imposed within the next month.”

“Why in god’s name would you even consider this... to trap us all here? I refuse to become a caged rat.” 

“My dear sir, have you not noticed the world around you? Not a single townsperson has left since the incident, unless by boat or death. The trains are too much of a bad memory... not that we can afford to repair the tunnels in this state. Should they leave, we’ve a high suspicion that they should all become murderous.” He lit a cigar as he spoke, pausing for a puff.

“That is quite the assumption-“ John began to protest, only for the gentleman to interrupt him once more.

“Is it? As it is, pregnant women have been attacked by crowds in the streets and have been badly beaten, or even killed. So what if they got to the mainland? How many more would become murderers, how many children stolen? These people are desperate for a solution.”

The scientist spoke up once more, “We are giving them a choice, an opportunity to forget, see?”

John hesitated, “This does not sound like a choice, not what you are proposing..”

A silence was exchanged between the men, the only audible thing being the ticking clock in the room.

“I won’t do it, not for your corporate greed, this is not the answer.” John concluded.

The gentlemen got the hint, “in that case,” spoke the older gentleman, “we shall have to convince you in due time. Good evening, John.” He spoke, the others followed suit, ushering out of the doors, stopping to bid additional goodbyes to Abigail who ran into them in the hall.

She figured they’d be back sometime soon.

John sank into his armchair, muttering curses and once more lighting his pipe with shaking hands.

“The outrage!” He exclaimed, “oh confound it Abigail, there are many dark days to come for us.” He let out a heavy sigh. Of course he’d known she was there.

“What was that all about?” She questioned him, John finally lifted his head to look at her.

“I wouldn’t worry your head with it..” he replied bluntly, “Nasty business, what cheek!”

She sat next to him, taking his shaking hand in hers, she’d never seen him so worked up before.

“Are you alright?” She questioned him, he pulled his hand away.

“As one could hope to be.” He replied coldly, standing and walking to the door, grabbing his coat and hat.

“If you’ll excuse me, I’ve somewhere to be.” He muttered and promptly left.

Her face fell, something was up.

But now was not the right time to ask.

=========================

One week later and John had been just as distant to her as he had been in the first week of their arrangement, it worried her that a man so content could become so tense.

Whatever it was must have shaken him.

She found that the man was avoiding her more often, chosing to hide away in his room or to play his phonograph.

And he sang.

She’d heard it many times over her stay, but he only ever sang one verse at a time.

She thought the song rather beautiful, yet she did not know the name, and nor did she ever wish to ask him.

He only sang when he believed he was alone.

She began leaving the house more often to offer him his privacy, sometimes lingering to listen to that beautiful melody.

And when she had left on this particular day, she’d met Bennie once more at the jewellery stand. He sat in wooden stool beside it, a newspaper in hand, lowering it as he saw her approach.

“Oh, Miss Beaton!” He scrambled to stand up, tripping over one of the boxes on the ground, quickly patting himself down after he’d regained his footing.

“Lovely to see you again!” He exclaimed before clearing his throat, “how are you, it’s been a while.”

“I am well.” She replied with a smile, “how have you been, Bennie?” She noticed the grand piece of the stand was still missing, the pearl necklace and rhinestone.

“Wonderful now that you’re here.” He stated, before realising his wording and backtracking, “tha-that is now that i have some good company to chat to.” He chuckled nervously, she raised an eyebrow.

“So you’ve sold it then? The necklace?” She questioned, he took a moment before nodding.

“It is, so-to-speak, it’s not on display anymore, that’s for sure!” He exclaimed, she had to admit, it was a shame to find it missing. What a beautiful necklace it had been.

“I was just wondering... would you like to get tea sometime?” She questioned, “tomorrow perhaps? It’s just I’ve found myself rather unusually unoccupied these past few evenings and-“

“I’d love to.” He interrupted a bit too quickly, a small silence ensued.

“That would be wonderful.” She smiled, “good day to you, Bennie.”

“Good day, Miss Abigail..” he waved in her direction before slowly sitting back down.

He sat in his stool for the rest of the afternoon with a smile painted onto his face.

_I look forward to it._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Im having a great deal of fun writing this! Thank you to all who have enjoyed it so far.


	4. A Song to Sing-o

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Abigail learns a new song

It wasn’t many afternoons later that Abigail would return home to find John in a happier mood.

Stepping into the dim-lit house, closing the door behind her, Abigail was swiftly met with the smell of tobacco and the crackling melody of the old phonograph kept by her mentor, a slow, all too familiar tune. She could hear the old man humming along to it from the next room.

_”I have a song to sing, O”_

She slid her body across the wall to peak through into the livingroom, not wishing to interrupt his rest. He was sat by the fireplace, glasses on and reading a newspaper with his smoking pipe in-hand.

She wondered if he was concious of his singing. Yet he continued.

_”It is sung to the moon by a love-lorn loon_  
_Who fled from the mocking throng-o,_  
_It's the song of a merry man moping mum_  
_Whose soul was sad and his glance was glum,_  
_Who sipped no sup and who craved no crumb_  
_As he sighed for the love of a lady,_

_Hey-di, hey-di, misery me, lack-a-day-de_  
_He sipped no sup and he craved no crumb,_  
_As he sighed for the love of a lady.”_

It was the song she’d heard him sing many times before. It was a beautiful tune, and yet with one singer it had never felt complete.

The man glanced upwards briefly as to turn a page of his newspaper, when he spotted Abigail in the corner of his eye.

“Ah Abigail, it’s you, how long have you been standing there then?” He questioned, turning his eyes back to his paper, pausing briefly to remove the needle from the record, stopping the music abruptly.

“I apologise John, I was just-“ she sputtered, only for john to interrupt her.

“You have a question, I can tell.” He lifted his eyes once again, placing the paper down to sprinkle more tobacco into his pipe, followed by a quick puff. “You may as well come in, sit, what is it you wanted?”

She hurried over to the empty armchair, sitting as he had instructed. She leaned forward curiously, her legs risen on her heels, glancing at her old mentor.

“Im sorry sir, it’s just that song, i’ve been hearing it throughout my stay here, and yet... you always sing it alone, when no-one is around. What is it? I do very much enjoy it.” She asked him hurriedly before she could stop herself, she never felt of asking lest it upset the older man, especially in his mood.

But instead of displeasure, he smiled, taking in another puff from his pipe. “Why be sorry my dear, it is a beautiful song.” He replied.

“A beautiful song it is!” She agreed.

“It’s name is, as one could surely tell, ‘I have a song to sing’, part of an operetta called the Yeomen of the Guard written by William Gilbert and Sir Arthur Sullivan back in 1888,” he relayed the information

“I was only a young man of...” he paused, doing the math in his head, “.. Why I would have only been 13 when my parents took me to see it on its opening night at the Savoy Theatre in London.” He recounted, “The song itself turns out to be rather sad.”

Her eyes lit up as he spoke, it wasn’t often they were able to talk to each other like this. “Why is it sad? It doesn’t sound melancholic.”

“It’s the story of a jester named Jack Point, and a merrymaid named Elise, whom he adored, unfortunately she married the Colonel of the Yeomen guard under false pretences, who had been condemned to die on the accounts of sorcery. He lives, and she ends up loving him in the end. Poor Jack is left with a broken heart” he took another puff from his pipe, 

“He dies in some versions, not in mine.”

“That is a rather upsetting ending.”

“And yet a hideously boring one to the young man I once was” he laughed.

“And yet it’s the only song i’ve heard you sing, why is that?” She questioned, noting the light that left his eyes for a brief moment.

“It is very sentimental, you could say I connect with the poor fool in a similar way.”

“You lost a love?” She asked, instantly knowing she had taken it too far, she cringed at herself internally.

“As one does in his youth..” he replied rather distantly.

“Can you sing me it... the full song?” She asked him in an attempt to cover up the akward moment. She knew she had succeeded when the amusement returned to his eyes.

“Heavens no, my dear. It’s a duet!” He exclaimed with a chuckle, “I may not be able to sing it myself! But with help...” he trailed off, allowing time for her to get what he was hinting at.

“You will teach me?” She asked hopefully, the look on his face told her all she needed to know. “Oh thank you John! I would love to learn it!” 

“Very good.” He chuckled once more, “Now, off with you, we’ll discuss this after supper, yes?”

How Abigail loved days like this one, John was hardly ever a sentimental man. And this was just one of many days to come that she would find herself getting to know the old man. 

**And yet...**

_”I have a song to sing, O”_

she sang as she sat by the piano next to John, who was reading the sheet music closely as she sang along, she sang slowly.

_“What is your song, O?”_

He sang back to her.

_It is sung with the ring of the songs maids sing,”_

“Good.”

_“Who loved with a love life-long-o”_

“Up tempo.”

_”It's a song of a merry maid pearly proud,  
Who loved a Lord and who laughed aloud,”_

“Louder.”

_“At the moan of the merry man moping mum,_  
_Whose soul was sad and his glance was glum,_  
_Who sipped no sup and who craved no crumb,_  
As he... 

She paused, “as he...”

_”As he sighed for the love of a lady”_

John sang to her, jogging her memory and picking the pace up once more.

 _“Hey-di, hey-di, misery me, lack-a-day-de_  
_He sipped no sup and he craved no crumb,_  
_As he sighed for the love of a lady”_

They concluded together, John ceased his playing and turned to face her. 

“Very good my dear, though I do have a couple of notes...”

**... She’d felt like she’d known him her whole life.**

=========================

It was her 2nd Wednesday with Bennie, and on this particular day they had chosen to explore the cliffsides.

“Nothing like a bit of sea breeze” Bennie stopped in his tracks and sniffed the air, breathing in the ocean’s wind. He adored the views over the ocean.

“But nothing finer than compsny.” Abigail added, “And neither of us seem to be short of that.” She smiled as she walked onward.

“Neither we do, and fine it is!” He exclaimed, jogging to catch up with her.

“Im so very glad you’re in mine.” He muttered to her.

They walked onwards for a while before stopping at a bench overlooking the other islands, both decided the spot would be lovely to rest in.

“Abigail..” he began, trailing off as he reached into his pocket, “I want you to have this.”

He produced a box, Abigail opened it perplexed, she’d not received a gift in many a year.

She was overjoyed to find the necklace was stored inside.

“Bennie, you-!” She began, only to be hushed,

“You loved it so much and i’d hate to see you disappointed..” he told her meekly, “I hid it because I couldn’t imagine having to give it to anyone else.”

She removed it from its box, staring in awe at the gift, she smiled wider than before.

“Let me help you.” He offered, taking it from her hands and clasping it around her neck. She moved her hand up to feet the rhinestone heart.

“Thank you Bennie, you’ve no idea how much this means to me..”

They sat on that bench until sundown for what seemed like an eternity, before once more parting ways for the evening.

=========================

Abigail awoke with a start in the middle of the night to a crash and several loud thumps.

She arose, lighting a candle to bring with her before stepping into the hallway. 

_A light in the attic?_

Finding the ladder, she began to tread on it lightly, upwards into the previously unexplored room.

John stood in his pyjamas, holding a lamp that had once been standing and was now snapoed in two. He had a large pane of glass sat upon the wooden surface that he was stood under, and many bedsheets in a heap on the ground.

“Oh, Abigail!” He exclaimed, accidentally dropping the end of the lamp and hitting his head on the low-hanging surface.

“Blasted-“ he hissed before catching himself, “What are you doing up my dear, gave me a rather nasty fright.”

“I-I heard a crash..?” She replied, confused and yet relieved that all was well.

“Ah, yes, I was removing some clutter that got in the way.”

“What are you doing, John?” She questioned the unusual sight.

“Hm? Oh! I am testing a rather intricate form of magic, my dear.” He hummed as he continued to try and fit the lamp into its place.

“And what form of magic would that be?” Ahe began to pick up some of the bedsheets, “I only just washed these...” she mumbled in displeasure.

“Phantasmagoria.”

“Phantasma-“ she began to ask, only to be interrupted by John’s truimph as he finally placed the lamp correctly.

“Ah, splendid! Yes, phantasmagoria, or the Pepper’s ghost effect if you’d rather.” He explained.

“You see, if i turn on this lamp,” he flipped the switch, beaming a light onto the dark curtains placed in front of it, “and I wore something completely white, a bedsheet in this case...” 

He walked over to Abigail, plucking a bedsheet from her arms and draping it over himself before placing himself in front of the lamp.

“Tah dah!” He exclaimed, Abigail’s eyes widened.

Above the wooden platform stood an exact replica of John in his bedsheet form, she couldn’t even see his legs!

“A complete copy of myself, rather fascinating, isnt it?” He smiled, removing the bedsheet.

“You were floating!” She gasped, John laughed.

“Not floating my dear, my pyjamas were just too dark to be reflected.” He explained, handing the bedsheet back to her.

“How- how did you do it?” She stared at the makeshift stage where John’s reflection had stood, she’d never seen anything quite so remarkable!

“Well my dear, the glass up there is tilted at an angle, so that when something light is reflected, the light is refracted by tiny little prisms, causing it to bend out of shape, and Presto! The image appears the right way up!”

“He moved her in front of the lamp, placing a bedsheet over her and angling it so she was peering out of two holes he had cut into the fabric.

“You cut-!”

“Hush my dear, we’ll worry about that later, I suggest you dont look into the light.” He stated as he turned on the lamp, blinding her for a moment.

He climbed up a ladder onto the platform, she could see him next to her ghost.

“Now hold out your hand for me, dear” He instructed, she held out her arm, to which John began to mimic shaking her hand.

“Pleased to make your aquatintence, spectre.” He giggled, she burst out into laughter.

“You must teach me these tricks someday.” She said through deep breaths as she calmed down from their fit of hysterics.

“Why not become my apprentice?” He asked as he wiped a tear from his eye before climbing back down to meet her. “I’ve no-one else to pass my tricks onto, after all.”

“I’d very much enjoy that!” She exclaimed, “But no more cutting up bedsheets.” She laughed to him.

He straightened his back and held out a set of crossed fingers to her, “My promise” he chuckled, “Now off to bed, Goodnight Abigail!” He announced as he made his way to the ladder.

“Goodnight John!” She exclaimed, before getting a glampse of the brightened window pane.

 _More like good morning..._ she wondered in amusement.


	5. Here’s a How-dee-do

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bennie is Caught.
> 
> John finally opens up to Abigail after a new obstacle is thrown their way.

Winter was closing in, the leaves on the trees had long since fallen, and darker nights emerged.

A chill in the air, a tightly-bundled crowd of people invaded the marketplace.

Bennie, himself, was among them.

“Excuse me sir, but is that necklace still available, the one with the pearls? My lady has been doting over it for the past fortnight, poor darling. It would make quite the anniversary gift, dont you agree?” The man chuckled smugly, Bennie looked at him hesitant.

“I apologise sir... it’s already sold.” He cleared his throat.

The gentleman leaned across the counter, “You’re lying.” He replied in a hushed tone, as though he had discovered something vile.

“Sir, I-“ Bennie began, but the man was adamant.

“You gave it to that Beaton girl, don’t take me for some oaf, boy.” He sneered, “Her family couldn’t even afford to scrape the _dirt_ off of my shoes. Don’t think I haven’t noticed boy, you two have been getting rather close, haven’t you?” He spat, raising his voice.

“You can get MY necklace from that little harlot and-“ the rampage continued before he was swiftly interrupted by the slamming of a fist.

“You listen to me, and you listen to me well sir, _THAT_ necklace is in her possession and _**THAT**_ is all that you need to know. Now, I suggest you and that attitude of yours move along, and dare not speak more ill-will of my customers.” He snarled back to the man, this seemed to deter him.

With one last snarl, and a click of the heels, the gentleman stormed away from the little market stall, and the small crowd that had been gathering split off in a fit of muttering, his father’s friend’s amongst them.

Poor Bennie would have a lot of explaining to do.

=========================

Abigail swiftly made her way towards the post office where a queue had already formed.

It was time to collect the ration tickets.

She had requested extra linens on behalf of John as to ensure he kept in heat during the coming months, a harsh winter was never a good one, especially for the elderly.

Slowly the queue dwindled, and Abigail approached the counter.

“Hello, Im here to collec-“ She began, but the woman seemed to have known.

“To whom is it adressed?” She replied, not looking up from the list in front of her.

“Mr John W. Warlock.”

The woman finally looked up at the young girl, eyeing her suspiciously.

“And what is your relation to Mr Warlock?”

“I am his maid, Ma’am, I assure you there are no ill-intentions.” She replied quickly.

The woman looked her over once more, before deciding it wasn’t worth the trouble.

“Very well Miss, let me see what Mr Warlock has been granted.” She opened a file, going through the list of tickets.

Only to see a large cross next to his name.

“I... apologise Miss... it seems Mr Warlock has been removed from the listing.” She cocked her eyebrow at the list, “Im afraid there is nothing I can give you today. Next here plea-“

“What do you mean he’s been removed?” Abigail exclaimed to the lady, stepping slightly to allow an elderly man to approach the counter.

“I am sorry miss, I have no knowledge.”

“Please, we’re practically starving as it is!” Abigail pleaded, the woman shook her head quickly.

“I am afraid not, there is nothing i can do for you! It must be taken up with the government.”

And in a whirl, Abigail found herself standing outside of the post office, just as empty handed as she had been when she entered.

She stood in a daze for a moment, trying to piece together what had happened. They couldn’t have thought he was dead? No... they’d have needed to perform an investigation beforehand. Perhaps they were almost completely out of food and needed to make cuts?

No.... It was only John’s name that had been crossed out.

In that moment, she began her long dash back to the parade and into their house, practically slamming the door shut in her frenzy.

“What in god’s name!” Came the exclamation of a very much startled old man, it wasnt long before that same old man entered the hallway.

“What happened my dear, are you alright?” He eyed the door a moment, “I dare say the hinges aren’t... what has gotten you so worked up?”

He led her into the livingroom, telling her to sit while she caught her breath.

“The tickets... our rations..!” she breathed as she tried to force the words from her mouth, John stared at her expectantly.

“The tickets...? They weren’t stolen, were they?”

“No, you’re...” she swallowed, “They’ve removed you from the list!” She finally exclaimed.

A series of emotions. At first, John’s face. Confusion twisted to surprise, and surprise to anger. John snarled, his face turning a stark crimson, he retreated backward, falling with a heavy thump onto his armchair.

“Confound it..” he hissed, his hand raising to rub his temples. “I just knew, KNEW, something like this would happen..”

Abigail rose, approaching John, kneeling at his side in comfort, “I-Im sorry John, of this is because I moved in, I-“ she was cut off by the slamming of his fist on the wooden arm, he let out a small cry before cradling his hand with the other, anger remained in his features.

“No-“ he sighed in frustration, “- no dear, this isn’t about you.” He stood, striding to the middle of the room and away from Abigail.

“Carrot on a string.” He muttered, Abigail only blinked at him, he must have sensed her confusion, as he turned to face her before continuing.

“The donkey, with the carrot on a string. It follows blindly at the promise of food..” he gestured, “They’re trying to starve me out until I agree to their.... Well- quite frankly evil plans. I’ll have none of it!”

Abigail supposed, in that moment, that there couldn’t be any man quite so stubborn. “So what does this mean, for us?” She almost muttered the question, John just turned his head to the side, daring not to glance at her as he uttered, “You shall have to leave.”

“...What?” She questioned, bolting upright, “But, John-“

“I will have none of it, Abigail!” He roared, causing both of them to startle. Abigail at John’s sudden ferocity, and John at the loudness of his own voice, he found it almost unrecognisable...

“None of it!” He continued nonetheless, “I should rather starve myself than condemn a town to a fate worse than death, I won’t do it. You shall have to leave, quickly, they cannot deny you, and i’d mich rather not starve you with me.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose, eyes shut, he let himself fall heavily onto the sofa before burying his head in his hands. “I’ve rather enjoyed our time together, my dear.”

She leaned down before his face, placing her hand on his shoulder, “Im sure there’s something to be done, isnt there? I can’t go back to my mother... nor can I afford a house.” She said slowly, causing John to look up at her, “Now I don’t know what’s going on, or why this has happened, but you are stuck with me, alright? I refuse to leave you, John. We can figure something out.”

John would have laughed had he not overwhelmed with misery at her statement, she was right after all. He settled for a solemn smirk.

“My dear, when did you become this house’s master?” He half-chuckled, shaking his head.

She backed up a bit, sheepishly. Feeling as if she had overstepped a boundary, “John, i’m sorry, I-“

He shook his head further, “No, my dear, you are quite right. Without you around here i’d have gotten nothing done, i’d have nothing TO do, even. I should listen to you more often... include you in these discussions, however ugly... you have a right to know what is going on.”

She nodded at him timidly. He gestured for her to sit beside him, before he spoke, “You witnessed the end of the discussion.” He recounted, a heavy sigh releasing from his lips, “But you missed the most of it.”

“I was approached by our ‘dearest’,” he spat, “Lord Mayor... or rather, soon-to-be former Lord Mayor.” He noticed her head tilting from the corner of his eye, informing him that he needed to elaborate, “The structure is changing, Britain has abandoned us, the Lord Mayor has designed our dear little town a new government system, ‘The Executive Committee’, it is to share his role among a series of elected board members... it’s actually rather ingenious.” He admitted.

“The part that i dont like is...” his eyebrows creaced, he four himself avoiding her gaze, “That chap, the scientist, Harry Haworth, has this brand new pharmaceutical, a drug that will remove any memory, however dull, and prevent anyone from ever feeling any emotion other than Joy... he has named it accordingly.” He removed a small bottle, a prototype, from his shirt pocket, she took it from his hands.

Within the bottle, a small pill sat, the label on the front read “Diagnostic Test: JOY Sample v2. One dosage per hour.”

“Why...” she swallowed, “Why did they approach you?”

“My dear, I wish i knew myself why they would choose me.” He curled his hair in his fingers, “The people of Wellington Wells are... hesitant. The town is depressed.”

He pressed his lips together, forming a thin line, “This drug, they want to administer ot throughout the town, make everyone forget about...” he paused, sheepishly flickering his eyes to and from her face, “Forget about the children.. they have a good point, I suppose, these ‘Breeder Riots’ are too far out of hand, but... This drug, this _thing_ , it isn’t how you solve this issue. It sullies the meaning of happiness, and not a thing has been done to punish the members of this town responsible for the murder of those poor women who happened to fall pregnant.”

Abigail nodded her head solemnly at the memory, crowds of furious and grief-stricken men and women attacking a pregnant women, beating her to death. She was aware that this was becoming more common.

“Why did they tell you this?” She finally asked after a long silence, noting how his eyes slammed shut.

“They want me to use my magic as some cheap advertising ploy.” He spat, “A highly respectable man in well regard of the public, such as myself, advertising some miracle drug that can remove pain and displeasure... passing it off as magic to create a rather large show that nobody could possibly miss. Street magic, theatre, televised _stunts_. Anything to get the word out... I am, essentially, to become the branded face of Joy.”

Her face fell, she could see why he had hesitated to tell her, why he was so shaken by the idea of this drug, why he was _scared_ of the outcome... but a town without misery, without care...

Wouldn’t that be a good thing?

“... So what do we do now?” She finally spoke after a long pause, “I refuse to leave you John.”

He rubbed his chin, face tilting, thinking. His eyes finally lit up after a moment, before they fell once more, as if deflated

“No... that would never work..”

“What wouldn’t?” She asked all too quickly. He eyed her curiously.

“If a third, rather young adult, joined our household... They’d have to supply them their tickets.”

Then, an image appeared in Abigail’s mind.  
A lightbulb.


	6. Persona Non Grata

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John recieves two unexpected guests, and a rather chaotic morning follows.

“Bennie...”

It was evening now, and the boy had been packing up shop with one of his father’s workers. He startled at the sound of Abigail’s voice, she was hardly ever out this late.

“Oh... Hello, miss Abigail!” He exclaimed, stopping his actions to face her, his hand flying to scratch the back of his head.

“You’re out late, can i help you?”

She shifted slightly, averting her gaze before she muttered to him, “Can we... talk?”

She thought she saw a glimpse of panic in his eyes for a brief moment, she grimanced at her wording. She hadn’t meant to scare him.

“Oh, of course... come with me, a moment.” He led her a little bit away from the stall, out of earshot.

“What’s wrong?” He finally asked her in a hushed tone, she shifted where she stood.

“Bennie... you told me before, but you do not wish to live with your father, do you?” She questioned meekly.

“Yes, I have stated before..” he paused at the look of her face, she was clearly upset or embarrassed, perhaps both? The air felt off.

“Bennie, you’re going to hate me for asking, but we- I need your help, so much has happened I-“ he stopped her as she rushed out her explanation, losing her composure.

“Abigail, i will not hate you, what has happened? What can i do?”

She let out a heavy sigh before she recounted, “Some time ago... John, he- well he was talking to the mayor and they had an argument. John wouldn’t do what he wanted and now he’s-” she took a moment to force down her anger and dread, preventing the emotion from flooding her words, a shaky sigh later and she regained eye contact with Bennie.

“He’s cut us off.” She replied bluntly, it was all she could muster at the moment, allowing time for several calming breaths.

Bennie quirked an eyebrow, “Cut you off?” He asked in confusion, “Cut you off from what?”

“Our rations!” She exclaimed rather too loudly, “They’re starving us to force John’s hand, I was at the post office this morning and his name had been removed from the registrar.”

Bennie’s eyes widened slightly, he too threatened to lose composure, he rapidly patted at his pockets.

“I-I can give you my tickets! I’ll do anything to help, oh darnit- i dont seem- I dont have them on me right now, but I can-“ he stuttered in his fitful search, only to be stopped as Abigail’s hand clutched his shoulder.

“John and I already have a plan” she told him, allowing the man to breathe a sigh of relief, “But this, you may not like..”

His breath hitched once more, did she have to do something horrible? Did they have to flee the town? A million horrific scenarios crossed his mind.

Abigail caught on to his unease, continuing as calmly as she could, “It’s- it’s nothing bad, Bennie... John told me that should one more person join our household then they cannot refuse us our tickets, our household would be large enough.” She fiddled with her hands, “And thats.... that’s why i came to you, to ask...” she trailed off, Bennie finally caught on.

“...To ask me if I could move in with you...” he finished her sentence for her, hushed but focussed, he was thinking. Abigail only nodded at him.

“Abigail I-“

“It’s alright, I understa-“ she choked out as she began to turn her back to him, only for his hand to spin jer back towards him.

“No Abigail, I’ll gladly do it.” He smiled, she stared at him in shock, “My father is not a nice man, and has more food than we can really ever hope to see while this war rages, I’ll gladly do this, not only to get away from him, but to help you...” he soothed, pulling her shaking form into an embrace, she had broken down at his words, allowing tears of relief to fall.

“I want to do something good with my life.” He continued, “it’s only logical I begin that with you-“ he caught himself in his words, tensing up briefly, a large blush forming on his cheeks as he realised what he had said. They stayed like that for a while, an awkward atmosphere taking over, it seemed to have stunned Abigail out of her state.

After a moment, they removed themselves, and Bennie cleared his throat. “I- uh... I shall meet you at your residence tomorrow.” He wandered back towards the stall, “Thank you Abigail! I- ah... I’ll see you then!” He beamed a bright smile, gesturing to the other man at the stall when he was certain he couldn’t see her, he recieved a thumbs up from the man, much to Bennie’s bashful reaction.

She couldn’t help but let out a little giggle.

=========================

By the time John had awoken the next morning, he’d found that he had overslept by half an hour, and the smell of fresh bread and eggs filled his room.

Confusion filled him, they hadn’t had the supplies before this. Food appearing out of nowhere wasn’t exactly logical.

He rose from his bed, neglecting his morning routine of changing out of his pyjamas, and promptly headed for downstairs.

He could hear Abigail in the kitchen, laughing, and the clattering of pots and pans. He twisted to peer into the doorway.

“Oj John! You’re up!” She exclaimed in a laugh, John spotted the bewildered young man beside her, who had somehow managed to crack an egg down his front, staining John’s apron.

“John, i’d like you to meet-“

“Bennie, Bennie McLean, good to meet you, sir!” The young man cut through Abigail’s introduction, holding out his egg-stained hand to the older man.

“Just a moment.” John spoke, he took a teatiwell and covered his right hand with it, and with a snap of his left thumb and fore-finger, he removed the tea towel to reveal a thick white glove had appeared on his right hand. 

He offered it out to give the startled man a harty shake of his hand, a bright smile appearing as he gazed at the amazed man’s face.

“John Warlock, charmed.”

Abigail gazed to the man to her left, and instantly went into hysterics. Bennie’s mouth hung open, his arm still extended outwards, his eyes wide, frantically examining the man that had just shaken his hand.

“Abigail! You didn’t tell me he was a-“

“A magician? Yes, we tend to leave out that little fact, don’t we, dear?” He cocked an eyebrow to Abigail, his face twisting into a sly expression.

“Now, lets get this served then, shall we?”

=========================

Breakfast was delightful, a proper meal, something Abigail was sure she would never eat for another lifetime.

Ah but, a rich business such as Mr McLean’s would hardly feel the impact of rationing. They could afford to import expensive wines, meats and fruits.

Which Bennie had so graciously provided a taste of.

John had taken an interest in his guest, both of them instantly hitting it off. Bennie found his magic tricks fascinating, requesting to see trick after trick, and John, of course, happily obliged.

“What inspired you to take up such a fascinating job then, sir?” Bennie asked, the man had never witnessed a magic show before, a magician was something only he, and many others during his time had heard about. 

“It’s different,” John replied quaintly, “in my day, Magicians were reserved for the lower class, seen as a con, or a cheap trick.” He recalled, “I wanted to change that.”

Bennie nodded, another question gracing his lips, “And what did your family think? Most parents aspire for their child to be a man of law, or a businessman? I don’t suppose they took ot all too well.”

“Not at all,” John huffed a chuckle, “My parents were highly respected, my father was a very wealthy businessman, owner of the Perry & Powell estate agents, he could sell a box for a bar of gold had he tried.”

“My parents weren’t pleased, especially as I had been the one written to inherit all of their estates and wealth, my brother had long since lost their trust. They were humiliated, talk of the town was that the sons of the great Mr Powell we’re both complete and utter failures.” John concluded with a sigh.

“Well it must have worked out well for you,” Bennie relented, causing the older man to cease his eating and look up, “after all, you never did give it up.”

A fond smile appeared on John’s features, and after a moment of thought he replied, “A better life couldn’t be had, in the end, im a far more respectable man than my father was.”

“And how is that, then?” Abigail questioned, a smirk as she cocked her eyebrow.

“The town he lived in held no love for him, his nicknames contained many unforgivable utterances. Mine, on the other hand, don’t.” 

“Your nickname?” Bennie questioned, he already knew a few of his own father’s nicknames, none were at all dignified, and he never cared to argue... he knew they were certainly justified.

“The Sorcerer.” John replied, taking another mouthful of his breakfast.

The morning’s tranquility was soon broken with the knocking of the door, heavy thumps, all to hard to be for a friendly visit for a chitchat. 

John stood promptly, patting himself down, “I’ll be a moment.” He excused himself.

When he reached the source of the knocking, he undid the latch and oppened the door to find a very pissed off looking businessman.

“My good sir, what a racket you have made this morning, what ever is the matter?” He asked exasperatedly, staring the man down. He was rather round, black suit and jacket, bolar hat atop his head. Hos face was red, clearly worked up, and his moustache was tattered, clearly he hadn’t groomed it that morning.

“The _matter_ is that _YOU_ , sir, have _stolen_ something from me!” He exclaimed, eyes narrowing as they peered at John, who, much to the mans distaste did not cower instantly at the outburst.

“Stolen, good sir, is that not quite the accusation?” He pressed on the man, who seemed rather taken aback. John realised he must have been rather sheltered, his reaction was that of a man who had never had to argue.

“It’s hardly an accusation if it’s the truth!” He spat at the older man, “My prized piece, the Chaumet necklace of pearl and rhinestone, return it at once!”

Bennie and Abigail soon rounded the doorway from the dining room towards the sound of the commotion, just in time to see the man shove John to the side aggressively, causing the man to stumble with a startled gasp. Abigail soon found a finger pointed in her direction.

“There!” The frantic man exclaimed, “Just as my man had said, the Beaton girl. Of course you’d be the one to have stolen it, harlot-“

“Father.” Bennie warned, Abigail gaped at the man, clutching the rhinestone heart in her hand, “Stop.”

The man’s anger only grew, John hastily moved to stand beside the young adults as the man’s tyrade continued.

 _ **“How DARE you speak to me that way!”**_ he roared, “You think I’d believe she’d _paid_ for this thing? A common wh-“

“I paid for it.” John replied coolly, the man rounded on him in surprise.

“Well _I_ havent seen any che-“

“You haven’t seen any Cheque as it has been residing in your son’s pocket for quite some time, sir. Forgive a young man his mistake, in youth we all could be forgetful.”

Bennie and Abigail gawked at John, who offered only a quick wink to them both, “Check your pockets, my good fellow.” John told him, crossing his arms in displeasure at his father. Bennie began a frantic search around his person.

There, in the pocket of his vestments, was a folded check with John’s signature for the amount of £1,400.

The man snatched it from gis son’s hands, reading it carefully. His face twisted into embarrassment.

“I-I apologise sir, I hadn-“

“Apology is out of the question, you have become Persona non grata, sir, I must ask that you leave this household immediately.” John said sternly, staring hard at the man.

“I lt is my every right to-“the man scoffed back, only for John to raise his hand and quiet him before he continued.

“My good sir, you barged into this house at risk to all of our personal safety, you continued to throw around _wild_ accusations and then proceeded to slander my dear Abigail’s name, all for the sake of a necklace that had already been paid for. You are in _NO WAYS_ justified. Now _leave_.” He hissed. The man blinked a moment, before fixing his hat and coat and briskly leaving the house, casting Bennie a dirty look.

As soon as the man had left, the shame settled on both Bennie and Abigail.

“John I-Im sorry, If I hadn’t-“ Abigail began, only for Bennie to interrupt.

“No, it’s my fault, i didn’t tell him i’d given you it and I- by god, sir I apologise that you are the one that had to pay for this-“

John rose his hand to quiet them down, “It is quite alright, youth will have its fling after all.” he smiled, “Besides, what could i have possibly used that money on anyway? I already own all an old man could want.”

He wandered towards the doorway, grabbing his coat and tophat as if to leave the house. “I’ll leave you both to it, I feel as though a walk would suit this bright morning.”he waved to them both.

Halfway out of the door, Abigail cleared her throat, earning the older man’s attention.

“Er... John?” Abigail said slowly.

“Yes my dear?” John asked, spinning around to face her.

“Pyjamas.” Bennie cleared his throat.

John peered down, spotting that he was still sporting his bed clothes.

“Drat..”

It earned him a chuckle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long, been busy with work issues xD
> 
>  
> 
> Hope the 2 people reading this enjoy <3


	7. The Riot of Gilbert St.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John’s morning walk takes a turn for the worst.

The walk was tranquil enough, he supposed.

But how he missed the days where you could hear the children laughing.

Each park he passed by bore a fresh reminder of them, and each time a fond smile crossed his lips.

They had reminded him of his youth, and perhaps had he gone down a different path in life, he would have had children himself.

Far too late now, he scoffed to himself, _How old I’ve become... when did that happen?_

He’d resigned himself to performance, in his early days, the children were his best customers, convincing their hesitant parents to go to his shows. Those children were old now, but still very much admirers. He’d become well known in his town over time, and prided himself that generations both new and old rejoiced in his company.

He’d never had much to live for, no family, no wishes, and as he grew older his friends began to dwindle one by one as they faded out of his life through their own deaths. He was alone.

He remembers their funerals, he remembers their families, who still visit him like an old grandpa, but too few and far between, too irregular. He was alone.

Until Abigail.

Abigail had thrown herself into his life (Quite literally) rather like a meteor would plunge itself towards earth, unknowingly and unintended.

In all truth, he had no idea why he invited her into his home, he’d barely even met the girl. He wasn’t lying, he did in fact need help in his twilight years, but it was usual to request a maid through recruitment centres or personal advertising, not to choose the first jobseeker to knock him off his feet. (Again, quite literally)

Ah but he doesn’t regret it, he considers his decision rather similar to striking gold.

Abigail was a light, she had brightened up days he had never known even needed polished, he enjoyed their moments together, and her interest in Magic sparked a new passion for the profession inside of him.

She was the only person he considered family.

He smiled as he remembered the faces she made when she looked at Bennie, he could see something between them almost instantly. Yet she had never mentioned him...

Strange, he figured. Bennie seemed a fine chap, and they clearly harbour some feeling towards one another, perhaps. She was never so secretive.

He found himself being snapped out of his thoughts as an ear piercing scream filled his eardrums.

He startled instantly, eyes widening as he twisted his head to find the source. He could hear many shouts from the street just ahead.

He ran towards it, bounding around the corner to find a large, angry crowd had rallied in the middle of the street. A man was crying, fighting with the crowd in an attempt to break through, and a woman was screaming loudly over the many shouts and cries.

John bounded towards the man, his hand clamping down on his shoulder, the man’s eyes turned to him frantically, he cried, “My wife! M-Martha, **Martha!** ” he began his frantic battle once more.

John began to join him, shoving people aside in desperation, together they fought through the crowd as the screams quietened and all was still.

They reached the centre, John instantly covering his mouth and nose with the back of his hand, pity adorning his features. The man beside him fell to his knees and wept.

A woman lay dead, beaten and bloodied on the stones of the street, blood seemed to puddle around the cobble, her stomach was noticeably bigger..

Another victim of the breeder riots.

Pools sat on the ground where the crowd had spat at her, deep purple bruises had already formed from the violent inflicted by the merciless crowd. John offered the man a pat on the shoulder, little comfort for what had befallen him.

“Get out of here.” He muttered to the frenzied crowd, who bore their teeth in a snarl.

 **”I said get out!”** he bellowed, some of those that admired him turned heel and left the scene in shame, but the many that remained stood strong.

“The bitch deserved what was coming for her.” One man spat, the cries of the crowd arose once more, agreement being the most popular response.

**”Who gave you the right to just- just MURDER anyone on the st-“**

He was interrupted by many more cries, a woman replying, “She deserved it! She was upsetting us, walking around like that, where is MY child! Why should SHE have the right!”

The man beside John had stopped mourning, and rose to John’s side, a fury within him. “You came in to MY home, you dragged out MY wife and you- and...” he sobbed slightly, pushing it back down to continue his rampage, **”and you SLAUGHTERED HER like some- some animal!”** he screamed, aiming a punch at the man who had insulted her, **”BASTARDS!”**

The crowd soon rallied again, attempting to push the man away, John attempted to pull his shoulders from the man, but was met himself with a swift hit to the face.

When he was able to recover, he found that he could not see out of his left eye. He was hit once more, knocking him from his feet, gashing his forehead. He could not see the other man anymore, but he could guess he was about to face the same fate as his wife had.

John tried to stand, to help, to do _anything_ , but he felt himself being pinned down, his working eye search for the source of the assailant, landing on a young man and woman, who looked at him sadly.

She was saying something, but he couldn’t hear it through the ringing in his ears. After what felt like an hour in slow motion, the crowd dispersed, and John could see the man from earlier, lying dead next to his wife, reaching for her hand.

“What were their names..” he asked the two above him groggily. The woman looked to the man sadly before replying, “We don’t know...”

And in that moment, John remembered how cruel the world could really be.

=========================

Abigail and Bennie had been having a wonderful afternoon of baking, shopping and chatting..

...That was until they heard about the riot.

She’d heard whispers of it, an angry mob of people attacking two men and a pregnant woman, two deaths had been the outcome, and one man escaped with minor injuries.

She hoped John had missed this event too.

Bennie looked worried, she had forgotten that he was new, and that he was not aware of the town’s situation, she decided they would go home and she would finally tell him what had happened.

“The police didn’t.... do anything... that’s what they were saying.” Bennie said slowly, he stared at Abigail with fear.

“Why wouldn’t they do anything? Why did no one care?”

“Bennie it’s..” she sighed heavily, “... these riots, these horrible, horrible riots are the result of town-wide geief.”

He eyed her hesitantly, “It’s to do with the children isnt it? ...The pregnant lady... what happened, Abigail?”

She looked down and began fiddling with her hands, beginning with a deep breath, “About a year ago there was.. a thing. A very bad thing.” She began, “The german occupation terrified us, they were questioning our... obedience?” She struggled to find the words, “Our willingness to aid them...” she let out a heavy sigh, “and so, the town government decided to... to hand over each child under the age of 13 as a hostage at the promise of their return..”

“As you can see, they have not returned.”

Bennie’s eyes widened in response, “Abigail I-“

She looked up at him, a sad smile crossing her lips as she told him, “No Bennie, it’s alright, you deserved to know.”

They sat in silence for a moment, staring at each other. She began to move in closer to him until-

A knock. A loud, frantic knock at the door.

Both of them pulled away quickly, breathing a laugh before Abigail cleared her throat.

“I... I better go get that.” She dismissed herself, exiting into the hallway, as soon as each were out of sight, they let out a small sigh, and a smile.

The knocks came again, knocking Abigail from her trance, she shouted to the door, “Just a minute!”

She approached the latch, turning the doorknob, she opened the door slowly to meet with the face of a young woman.

“Oh hello, how can I help you?” She smiled to her, the woman’s worried fave turned to relief.

“Oh thank god!” She exclaimed, “I was worried nobody would be home, quickly, help us-“

It was then that Abigail noticed John, who was being propped up by a man behind the woman, a small crowd of worried seemed to have formed, and there were two Bobbies ensuring that the people stayed at a distance.

“John!” She exclaimed at the sight of the man, cutting the young lady off, “Quick, get him inside! Bennie- Bennie!” She called for the man, who came running in an instant. He seemed to freeze in the hallway.

“Inside, quickly now!” He moved past the woman and assisted the man in hoisting the older gentleman inside, they whisked him into the livingroom and onto the couch.

Abigail was staring at John the whole time, his face was dripping with blood from the fresh cut on his forehead, his lip was split as he had bitten down on it, his left eye swollen shut and forming a grotesque bruise. 

Both her and Bennie soon connected the dots on who had been the third victim of the breeder riot.

“John, can you hear me?” She questioned him, moving her face infront of his, he let out a breathy chuckle.

“Of course i can,” he replied, “You’re a bit blurry, mind you, though I don’t suppose that’s an issue to do with the ears.”

She couldn’t help but sigh in relief, _So he hasn’t lost his wit, at least,_ she thought.

“What happened to you?” Bennie asked him, the woman ran back through from the kitchen with a bason of water and a cloth.

“Some rude chap decided ot would be a wise idea to sock me in the face.” He scoffed, “Twice.”

Abigail was horrified as he recounted, “They’d just murdered a woman in front of her husband, what else was I supposed to do..?” He sighed sadly.

He found himself wincing as a wet cloth brushed over his wound, the woman beside him let out a soft “Sorry, sorry!”

“That’s quite alright, my dear. Thank you.” He smiled drowsily.

As the night continued and John found himself asleep, Abigail couldn’t help but wonder..

_Who in their right mind would do such a thing?_


	8. The Dullest of Memories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Abigail and Bennie care for the recovering John

_”-A beautiful eggshell white for the tablecloth, shall we bring out the Vin Rouge yet darling, or save it until after the banquet?”_

_The woman in the black dress spoke elegantly. She wore the straight, frowning face of the upper class, dressed in blacks. It was the fashion back then, a nation in mourning alongside their great Queen Victoria. The black dress had become somewhat synonymous with fashion._

_A young John sat in one of the velvet-coated armchairs, a scowl adorning his face._

_How he hated his mother’s voice._

_They were planning something, what were they planning?_

_A vivid memory, John hadn’t wanted to remember his past like many, it seemed that lately he’d had these memories thrust upon him more frequently._

_His father entered, nose to the sky, fixing his cufflinks. “Does it matter?” He rolled his eyes to the woman, “We’ve plenty in the cellar, not to mention the O’Sullivan’s are hardly the type to complain should we put out the cheaper wine. It’s not as if they can AFFORD a bottle of Chateau Margaux.” He let out a snooty chuckle._

_“I don’t understand why we’re marrying him off to some..” his mother began, pausing to convey the disgust in her face, “Irish family... they’re hardly befitting of our status! Even if the girl inherits our surname, we cannot change the first! Maeve is still obviously an Irish name, and of the lower classes.”_

_Her husband turned his nose, another roll of the eyes, John could remember how overbearing his mother was, even to the point that his father, her equal, would find it hard to speak to her._

_“It’s all the rage nowadays dear, it’s any familiy’s christian duty to help the poor... are we not doing just that? Think of it, we’d be seen as charitable, giving a poor family, An irish one no doubt, our eldest son to share our wealth. Why we’ll be the toast of London! We might even get a knighthood for our contribution to charity.”_

_The young John stared at the wall ahead of him, dead to the world, he found this form of conversation to be incredibly insulting and horribly derogatory, however, he was more distraught at the idea of being given away._

_Carted off to be married to a woman he had never met, all in the name of status. He knew fine well that that’s what happened to his parents, and he hadn’t much enjoyed the idea of being trapped in a loveless marriage._

_Still though, he thought, at least they had deserved each other._

_The young man of 20 slipped out of the room, the memory faded_

John awoke in is bed..

=========================

Abigail had awoken early that morning to see through the day, her first course of action was to check in on the old man.

She silently nudged open the door to his bedroom, where he lay on his bed peacefully. The large welt on his face was the first thing she noticed... it made her frown. But for now, she would let him sleep while she made him soup. The damage done to his mouth made her worried that he could never be able to eat solid food again, but part of her figured this fear is irrational.

She had all to thank the strangers from yesterday for, to risk being attacked by that same crowd in order to help a man escape. If they hadn’t, John could have lost more than just some blood...

She sighed, closing the door behind her silently.

She dutifully made her way downstairs and into the kitchen, taking out the necessary local-grown vegetables to create the broth. A yawn was audible from the doorway. She glanced at the source, Bennie had followed her and was currently rubbing his eye accompanied by a few heavy blinks.

“So how is he?” Bennie questioned, she turned back to chop the carrots with a heavy sigh, “He’s alright I think, although he’s going to be really sore when he’s awake.”

Bennie had stayed in the attic overnight, bundled in spre blankets and pillows, they hadn’t even had the time to discuss new living arrangements with John, or been able to inform him of Bennie’s new residence. Ever the gentleman Bennie was, he refused to take a spare room or a mattress without John’s express permission. It took all of Abigail’s powers to convince him to stay the night.

After finishing her dicing she laud down the knife, putting on her best smile, she turned once more to Bennie, “Well now that you’re here, would you mind taking over? I’ll go wake him.”

Bennie happily obliged, filling her spot in the kitchen as she left for the upstairs.

However, when she got to the top of those stairs, she found she had arrived to an opened door, and a very much empty bed.

“...Bennie?” She called out from the room, a muffled response could be heard from the kitchen, “You’re sure you haven’t seen John this morning, have you?”

When he responded in the negative, she felt herself furrowing her brow. A witch-hunt began.

While Bennie allowed the pot to boil, both of them turned the house topsy-turvy to search for the old trickster, she was sure she was going to throttle him first chance she got.

They had made it to the Attic when the sound of piano music could be heard from the ground floor, the livingroom, she groaned in annoyance.

Storming her way downstairs, she flung open the livingroom door with a heavy sigh, bennie not far behind her looking rather bewildered.

“John W. Warlock I-“ she began her lecture, only for it to be cut off abruptly as he began to play her favourite tune,

_“I have a song to sing-o”_

he sang to her,

“John, Im-“ he cut her off once more as he repeated the melody to her, she relented, before sighing,

_“Sing me your song-o”_

She sang back to him, crossing her arms.

_”It is sung to the knell of a church-yard bell,_  
_And a doleful dirge ding-dong O,_  
_It's a song of a popinjay bravely born,_  
_Who turned up his noble nose with scorn,_  
_At the humble merry maid pearly proud,_  
_Who loved a Lord and who laughed aloud,_  
_At the moan of a merry man moping mum,_  
_Whose soul was sad and whose glance was glum,_  
_Who sipped no sup and who craved no crumb,_  
_As he sighed for the love of a lady,_  
_Hey-di, hey-di, misery me, lack-a-day-de,_  
_He sipped no sup and he craved no crumb,_  
_As he sighed for the love of a lady”_

“Look John-“ he tried cutting her off once more, but she wasn’t so easily quietened this time.

“John” she said sternly, unmoving, she held her gaze firmly. The man seemed to have gotten the hint, his moment of fun was over, he turned in his stool to face her like a deer caught in headlights.

“I-“ he began his explanation, but quickly gave up, his face falling once more before he muttered, “Sorry..”

Abigail flinched briefly at the hurt look in his eyes, but she knew better than to back down.

“You’re supposed to be resting John, you can’t be doing this at your age.”

He nodded his head head sheepishly, daring not to speak as she spoke.

“You’re hurt, and I wouldn’t be surprised if you were exhausted as well, I know you, You’re too stubborn to stay in bed, so I am here to make sure you do. I’ll take you back up there, you are going to rest and Bemnie will be up with a nice bowl of vegetable soup in a moment.” She helped him to stand before supporting him (albeit unneeded) towards the staircase.

She made he was comfortable, enough books to keep his company, herself and Bennie taking the librerty to haul the phonograph upstairs so that he was never far from his favoured music.

And there they sat, John teaching them songs, that day they all learned the words to several famous songs from John’s prime, as well as just how bad Bennie’s singing voice was. After belting their lungs out, John found himself reading them extracts from his favourite books, he even recited some of the stranger nursery rhymes from his childhood book to a very curious Abigail.

John learned that it wasn’t a bad thing to depend on someone now and again..

It felt good to be loved.


End file.
